In the Shadow of Notre Dame
by Calliope - Muse of epic poetry
Summary: Claude Frollo had always been content with keeping religion and science his only mistresses. But oh, how that had changed... By a mere slip of a girl, dancing on the street. Companion piece to "In the Darkness of the Bell Tower".


**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything from "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" ("Notre Dame de Paris") and I'm certainly not making any money from this story. Everything you might recognise belongs to Victor Hugo (or whoever now is in possession of the rights) and perhaps Disney and/or Plamondon and Cocciante. (Though as far as I know, the plot is mine.)

**Author's notes:** Well, some of you have requested this story and here it is :-) – the companion piece to _In the Darkness of the Bell Tower_. Though as always when I write, the story didn't really turn out the way I intended. Somehow the characters seem to have a mind of their own and Frollo certainly had. I would have liked to explore Frollo's conflicting emotions a bit more, but he didn't want to in this story so I might write another one sometime in the future. Though in the meantime I hope you will like this slightly longer one-shot.

So, before I let you continue there are a few things you should know:

Firstly... Yes, this story is rated M and yes, that means you shouldn't read it if you don't agree to what that rating entails or are old enough to read it.

Secondly...

Sancta Maria, mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus = Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners (Part of the Latin prayer _Ave Maria_)

Kyrie Eleison = Lord have mercy (Greek prayer)

Now, onto the story. I hope you will like it (and no, it's not necessary to have read _In the Darkness..._).

**In the Shadow of Notre Dame**

Dom Claude Frollo had always prided himself with his knowledge, his piety, his righteousness. He was not and had never been one of those ignorant commoners he met on those occasions he left his beloved Notre Dame.

Of course pride was one of the deadly sins, he was well aware of that. But despite this, in his stupid arrogance, he had looked down on the square from the window of his study chamber, silently laughing at the foolish men he had seen chasing after women, trying to win their favour with silly gifts and promises of heaven and earth.

He had always been content with keeping religion and science his only mistresses. They could be cold and cruel indeed, but never wilful. And they alone held the absolute truth.

But that had changed. Oh, how it had changed… By a mere slip of a girl, dancing on the street. Now he dreamt of heat and fire, surrounding him, engulfing him, cursing through his very veins, making it impossible to get any kind of rest.

He had to be free of her. Surely this was a test from God. What else could it be? Surely he, the archdeacon of Notre Dame, couldn't have succumbed to the wiles of a gipsy girl.

Leaving the warmth of the narrow bed he had in the small cell he had been given upon joining the monastery, he kneeled in front of the simple cross that was the only decoration to be found in the room and crossed himself. He opened his mouth to pray, but found he couldn't get the words of the familiar prayers past his lips. Instead he found himself hoarsely whisper the only phrase that seemed appropriate.

_Sancta Maria, mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus_

Maria... The virgin mother... But hadn't even she, the purest of all, known the joys – sins, he reminded himself – of the flesh? Besides the Son of the Lord, had she not born her earthly husband children as well?

Yes, though the actual pursuance of the act had never before held any interest to him, he was well aware of the theory. In his thirst for knowledge he had pursued even this area. _Ars Amandi_, _Kama Sutra_... The library of Notre Dame held books even from the most remote, sinful times and places.

With a disgusted noise, he rose from the floor and threw his thick wool cloak over his nightshirt, leaving the room in hope that a brisk walk in the cool night would clear his mind and cool his fiery blood. Without thinking, his feet took him from the area where the priests were accommodated, through the large but scarcely decorated dining hall and over the connection to the cathedral.

Notre Dame was an imposing building (even in this age when richly decorated cathedrals seemed to be constructed in every town that was large enough) and in darkness it could be downright frightening. Though Claude had never felt this, to him this was his sanctuary and when he slipped inside the dark room, he felt he could start breath easily again.

With movements fluent from half a lifetime of practice, he dipped his fingers in the font with holy water by the door and crossed himself before taking the familiar path to the stairs and up to the balcony. Though as he walked down the hallway a flickering light from somewhere down on the floor suddenly caught his attention.

There shouldn't be anyone in the cathedral at this time. Walking further along the balcony, he stopped in level with the light and looked down towards its source and what he saw made his heart stop and beat wildly at the same time.

A candle was lit in front of a statue of Maria, carved so that her hands were extended in blessing, in one of the alcoves and in front of the statue, with her hands closed in what he could only suppose should be an attempt at prayer, was the heathen girl that was bewitching his mind and body.

His mouth slightly agape, he watched as she lowered her head in front of the Holy mother, the soft light of the candle making her dark hair shine like it was illuminated by the fires of hell – which it most likely was.

Claude was half expecting one of God's angels to descend from the Heavens and smite her for this sacrilege, but the church remained still and dark and instead he found himself leaning further over the wide stone railing as the girl rose from her kneeling position and placed a flower at Maria's feet, quietly singing a song in a language he up till then had only heard used to scream warnings and curses on the streets of Paris or desperately begging for their lives as he offered last confessions and a final chance to embrace the one true God the evening before hangings.

The girl had a surprisingly dark voice for someone so small and young and it caused his blood to heat and shivers to travel from deep inside him up his spine. In a desperate attempt to protect himself, Claude crossed himself again and started praying the same words over and over.

_Kyrie Eleison_

Though his mouth repeated the short prayer without his heart or mind being in it. Because he _wanted_ to succumb, he _wanted_ to defy God and everything that was right and holy. He _wanted_ her. _Oh_, how he wanted her! His mind kept producing images so shameful, so sinful even Lucifer would blush and he couldn't care less.

Claude watched as if transfixed as the young gipsy turned around, stroking her fingers along the base of the statue as she did so. He knew that he was well hidden in the shadows, but he could have sworn that she was looking right into his eyes as she lifted her head and he found himself unable to breath. Looking down again, she blew out the candle and the church was once again covered in darkness, but the image of her was etched in his mind.

Without being aware of what he was doing, his mind started producing images of what would have happened if she really had seen him.

Her eyes would have met his and she would have let out a soft gasp. Disgusted with her heathen prayers he would have turned away, determined to return to his quarters. But she wouldn't have had any of that, she would have run after him and as she had almost reached him, she would have extended her arm so that her fingertips graced his sleeve, causing him to stop and turn back towards her.

Her chest would have risen and fallen rapidly from the exertion as she would have whispered, a slight pant noticeable in her voice, _I'm sorry,_ _I didn't mean to... I know I shouldn't be here._

_No, you shouldn't._ He would have replied. _Just because you were granted sanctuary does not mean that you have the right to wander around as you please._

_But I couldn't sleep..._ She would have stepped closer to him, so close he could feel her breath against his neck and inhale her earthy, spicy scent with each breath. _Because I... I kept thinking of you..._

Claude could feel his body respond to the images his mind produced, but he was too wrapped up in his fantasy to really care. His breathing grew heavy and he had to lean back against the pillar by his side as his legs refused to carry the weight of his suddenly quivering body.

Before he would have had time to stop her, she would have placed a kiss on his neck before letting her lips trail up to his mouth as her hands found their way inside his cloak.

His own hands found their way inside the thick fabric and with fumbling strokes he let his right hand travel from his collarbone and down to his stomach on top of his nightshirt.

No! He shouldn't – couldn't – do this! How could it be that he, who had never yearned for anyone's touch but that of the Holy Spirit, was reduced to this? Surely this girl must be a daughter of the Devil. He took a couple of deep breaths to calm his wayward body.

But what little control that gained him was immediately lost when his nose and lungs became filled with her scent mixed with that of the wax from the candle and he could feel an unfamiliar burning in his loins as his heart beat so hard against his chest he was sure the echo was heard through the whole cathedral.

Giving up all semblance of control, his hand dipped a little lower and as it came in contact with the sensitive area below his navel, he groaned out loud.

_I only dance for you._ She would have whispered against his cheek as her nimble hands found their way inside his nightshirt, nails tracing light patterns on his inner thighs, causing him to shiver and his length to harden fully.

_Little witch, what are you doing to me?_ He would have demanded heatedly, his face buried in her black hair. _Do you not know who I am? I can have you hanged for this._

But she wouldn't have cared; instead her small hand would have closed around him.

His breathing came in short gasps as his own hand did what he imagined hers to do and he was surprised to find a slightly sticky wetness covering the tip. With unpractised movements, Claude spread the fluid along a part of his anatomy he before had only touched when cleaning himself.

_I will show you your place, you little demon._ He would have told her as he would have grabbed hold of her and pressed her against the pillar, tracing his hand from the back of her neck and down to her waist, his thumb gracing her breast as he did so.

_Ple-ease!_ She would have gasped as he would have pushed down her flimsy blouse and pulled a puckering nipple into his mouth. Her hand would have stroked and massaged, driving him mad with desire, and as she wouldn't have been able to take the assault from his tongue anymore she would have grabbed onto his hand and guided it in under her long skirt and deep inside her most intimate place.

Claude picked up his pace without really knowing what he was doing. Each breath hurt as he struggled to force air into his lungs. It felt so... Oh! He threw his head back and suddenly realised that he was moaning from his own ministrations.

_I need you! Please!_ She would have moaned as she pushed her skirt out of the way and spread her long, lean legs for him as he lifted her up onto the railing. And without a care for his soul – because surely even God would understand this, he was the one who had created man after all – he would have plunged into her, feeling her hot, moist walls surround him and as he did, she would have screamed, clutching the fabric of his cloak.

He forgot how to breathe altogether as he imagined her moaning beneath him. Pleasure so intense he thought he would explode cursed through his body.

He felt a tightening in his groin and before he had time to realise what was happening, thick, hot seed spurted out of him, covering his hand and staining the floor and his night shirt and as it did, not even the combined forces of Heaven and Hell could have stopped the single word that passed his lips in a groan...

_Esmeralda!_

Spent, Claude sagged against the pillar, trying to calm the wild beating of his heart and his ragged breathing. Regaining some semblance of control, he looked up and as he did, he found himself looking into a pair of large green eyes, watching him with a combination of fear and curiosity, before the girl turned on her bare foot and fled up the stair to the closest tower, her trinkets chiming softly, leaving Claude slumped against the pillar, his arm extended after her, whispering one single phrase,

_Kyrie Eleison..._


End file.
